Howl
by IrethR
Summary: In a world where Kurt and Blaine never met in high school, a reluctant werewolf is dragged back to his Pack to deal with his past, the terrifying present and the unclear future. AU Klaine
1. Run

**Hi all! This is your author for this fic, IrethR. **

**I just want to start by saying I'm a bad, bad author. I've got two stories up and running already, and another in the works and I'm still starting a fourth. **

**This is loosely inspired by the wonderful fic "Surrender Self Control" by Musical Memory Maker which I recommend you all read, cause it's awesome. Go read it, seriously. Read this thing first though :P It's the first and only (though I assume there are more, I just haven't read them yet) werewolf story I read in the Glee verse and I absolutely adore it. I'm not going to be stealing plotlines or anything, but she (I'm assuming here, correct me if there's a 'he' behind the penname) did inspire me to write my own werewolf story. **

**That, and a poster in the London underground –I just got back, actually. Yes, I was there for the riots. The amount of sirens nearly drove me insane- which was a Twilight movie poster (I think Eclipse, but I'm not sure) which had the words "So not as cool as Glee" scrawled across in Sharpie. **

**I'm actually really excited about this and I'm brimming with ideas. :)**

**OK, so the basics:**

**Title: Howl**

**Chapter: 1, Run.**

**Rating: M**

**Pairings: Blaine/ OC, Major Klaine, anything else that strikes my fancy as I go and the plotline progresses. Mostly canon characters and some others.**

**Summary: In a world where Kurt and Blaine never met in high school, a reluctant werewolf is dragged back to his Pack to deal with his past, the terrifying present and the unclear future.**

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><p>It's 2 AM when I wake up with a gasp. The burning in my toes quickly tells me why I woke. I look beside me. No sign of Sebastian, my boyfriend. His shift at the club hasn't ended yet. Good, this means I wouldn't have to be sneaky while leaving our apartment.<p>

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and wince when the burning in my toes intensifies at hitting the ground. As I quickly slip into some clothes I pray that the burning pain won't spread to my legs until I'm a safe distance away from the apartment building. I slip into a pair of worn sneakers and grab my keys from the bowl by the front door. I pause before closing the door behind me, my left hand spasming at the sudden burn spreading through it.

I have waited too long, put it off because I really don't want to go through it again. I have purposefully initiated pre- exam cram sessions with my friends to study for the upcoming midterms, knowing my week of freedom was almost up.

I walk out of the apartment building at a brisk pace and am already a block away before I even realise where I am heading. The Park calls me, beckons me to run through its lush grass and old trees. It's not safe though, so I change course. I cover another four blocks before the burning spreads to my chest, causing me to stop breathing for a short minute. My feet automatically pick up the pace, running, searching for shelter, a safe place. Right when I'm starting to think about what lame excuse I'll probably give Sebastian this time, the burn sears through my head, temporarily blinding me and stopping all thoughts. Time's up.

I duck into the nearest alley, slink past the smelly homeless man muttering facts about football matches that took place months ago. I hide behind a couple of overturned boxes and try to quickly take off my clothes. By now, the pain has spread to my shoulders and neck, causing me to hunch over and grit my teeth in pain. I crouch down on all fours, knowing the worst is still to come.

I was right. The moment I crouched down was the moment my body surrendered itself to let the side of me I hid, the side of me I hated, escape. My feet are first. The bones elongate and the nails grow sharper and thicker. I collapse on my knees as the bones in my lower legs stretch and change, gritting my teeth as to not let out the bloodcurdling scream that's threatening to escape, for that would surely alert the homeless man – In my head, I have started calling him 'Cat', because he smells and I have a possibly unhealthy _Friends_- fixation- of my presence.

My shoulders are next and I let out a yelp as they seem to press together, bones appearing to shorten but growing much stronger at the same time. My face elongates, my eyes slide further apart. To call what I'm feeling right now 'pain' would be a major understatement. It feels like a thousand red hot butter knives are slowly hacking away at my flesh, slicing of sliver by tiny sliver before letting a few hammers hit down on my bones, breaking every single one of them and reshaping them into something else entirely. I'm not in pain. I'm in agony.

When the last few lumps of dark hair sprout out of the spaces between where my fingers used to be, I huff in relief before letting myself fall down to the ground to catch my breath. I open my eyes and see how my surroundings look nothing like they did before. It's like a pair of shades has been put over my eyes, turning the world a million different shades of grey.

My nose twitches. I smell so much more now. So many odours I couldn't sense before now seem to float around me, making me want to chase the scents to wherever they come from. I smell roast beef to my left, the homeless man's smell has grown even stronger on my right, the Chinese restaurant down the block smells like heaven and the Burger King a street away makes me want to vomit a bit.

I stretch where I lie, popping each joint and flexing each muscle. It feels like finally being able to stretch your arms after having worked at a desk ten hours straight. I stand on all fours and catch my reflection in shards of broken beer bottles. I curl my lip up, fangs gleaming in the light of the harvest moon. A 140 pound wolf stares back at me, teeth bared and almost smirking in triumph. I twitch my ear. So does the beast in my reflection.

'Cat' twitches in his sleep and I realise I need to get moving. Not only because my paws are itching for a good run, but also because I can't afford to be seen. My thick, black fur makes it difficult to spot me, but I'm not exactly invisible either and a large wolf trotting down the streets of New York might raise an eyebrow or two.

I slink past 'Cat' and try to stick to the shadows for most of my way to the park. I know I shouldn't go there, I do, but I'm over an hour's run away from the nearest forest or valley and I know I can't hold back for so long. My legs are twitching begging me to run. My ears are picking up every sound in a one mile radius, looking for something to chase. The park's the only place I'll get both. I'll run and maybe chase a squirrel or something. It's not exactly the deer or human prey my wolf wants, but it'll have to make do.

I reach the park in mere minutes, jumping over trash cans and scaring a few cats along the way. The air in the park is clearer, more natural and free. Instead of the heavy musk of human sweat, I smell the leaves on the trees, the scent of rain still clinging to them from the afternoon rain. I smell berries and daisies and leftover smells from where the roasted peanuts vendor usually is. My ears pick up the soft whooshing of the wind picking up fallen autumn leaves and carrying them elsewhere.

My left ear twitches. I hear the squirrel I promised myself earlier. It scurries down the bark of a nearby tree in search of nuts or something like that. I slink towards it, sitting down behind it to watch it busy at work, waiting for it to notice me.

After a few seconds of watching it scurry around, it suddenly stops in its movements and slowly turns around on its haunches as if sensing my presence. Its eyes grow comically wide and it drops the nu it's been holding. Somewhere in the human part of my mind I'm remind of an animated film character from a film I watched with Sebastian a few months ago. The squirrel takes its first hesitating step backwards. Then another. Finally, it just turns around and starts running as fast and as far away from me as it can with his tiny little feet. My inner wolf howls with delight. Game on.

I leap forwards, gaining momentum with each step. I follow the little squirrel between the trees and chase it up a fence, then down again. If I'm honest, I'll admit that I'm not really hunting. I'm not hungry enough, and there's hardly any meat on that scrawny little thing anyways. No, I'm just playing. I love the chase, revel in the thrill it gives me even though logically I know the squirrel is not match for me. Wolfs don't really care much for logic, though.

After a few minutes of happy chasing – for me at least- the squirrels seems to finally gather its wits around it and scampers up a tree, where it knows I can't follow it. I look up at the tree, pouting mentally. I guess play time is over then.

It's probably time to head back anyway. If I hurry, I might even get back home before Sebastian comes home from work. Mind made up, I turn where I stand and go back the way I came. Two streets from where I left my clothes, a ginger cat crosses my path. I do nothing but look at it, silently hoping it will want to play with me like the squirrel unknowingly did. The cat hisses at me, baring its teeth. I'm not impressed. I bare my teeth right back at it and huff a little. It scampers off quickly, most likely realising it wouldn't survive fighting me. A pity, really. I used to be a cat person before my first Change. Now felines won't even come near me when I'm human anymore.

I quickly trot back to my clothes, passing the thankfully still asleep homeless man with ease. My Change back into human form is relatively painless compared to changing into a wolf. My body knows my human shape better than it does my animal shape. My father would be so proud. Hah, as if.

After my Change I start the long walk back home, tired from Changing and running, but less antsy than I was before. I resolve to wait less long to Change again than I did this time. Eight days was really stretching my limits.

I wonder what time it is and as I pass a 24- hours- open DIY, I glance inside at the rusty old clock hanging above the counter. It's a quarter past four. Shit, Sebastian would be home by now, for sure. His shifts usually ended at half past three and he was never home later than four.

I start to walk faster, trying to think up something to excuse my wondering around at night as I go. A late night visit to the library perhaps? No, I'm studious, but that won't fool him. He knows I hate being in public spaces for too long. A run to the store? For what? We only did our groceries this morning. A quick trip to the gym? Again: public spaces. I'll just have to settle for saying I fell asleep studying at Rick's or something. I've used that excuse a few times already though and he probably won't buy it for much longer. I sigh, wishing a wish I've wished thousands, if not millions of times before: If only I were normal.

My eyes read a street sign a mile away. Not normal. My ears pick up the sound of the same cat that tries to challenge me earlier pitter pattering a few streets behind me. Abnormal. I can smell the Indian delhi down the street from my apartment building even though I'm still a few blocks away. Not normal. I wrap my hands around a street lantern and softly squeeze. When I pull my hands away there are handprints pressed deep into the steel, as if I just squeezed silly putty. Definitely not normal. And, oh yeah, I Change into a wolf once a week. So far beyond normal it doesn't even rate on the scales anymore.

My apartment building comes into sight and I walk just the slightest bit faster, eager to get home. Walking into the small lobby, I fleetingly smile at the grumpy night guard who's been there for as long as I can remember. He merely raises an eyebrow and grunts in response. My smiles immediately slides off my face and I turn in the direction of the crappy elevator, foregoing the stairs this time.

Right as the doors close behind me, a hand reaches in from the outside, stopping them from closing. The man attached to the hand quickly steps into the elevator, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair as he comes to stand beside me. I'm surprised at his presence in the elevator, since I had thought him to be home already.

"Sebastian!", I yelp, wincing as my voice goes higher than it usually does. "What are you doing home so late?"

He smiles at me, pulling me into a strong hug before quickly kissing me. I revel in the contact. He smells familiar. A hint of the chicken cabonerra he made for dinner – I'm dreadful in the kitchen-, a whiff of his shampoo and body wash, the heavy scent of smoke and beer courtesy of his job and… cologne? Odd. Sebastian doesn't wear cologne. He lets go of me and presses the button that will get us to our floor.

"We had some customers that had to be forcibly removed," he explains, "I was done anyway, so I volunteered to detain them a bit until they could be picked up. How about you?"

"Fell asleep at Rick's again," I say, hating how the lie rolls off of my tongue so easily. "I swear there's something about that couch…"

He chuckles, completely buying into the lie. I hate myself just a little bit more. As the elevator doors open to let us out, I turn to him: "Hey, did you get a new cologne? You smell different."

He half-smiles. "Cologne? No, I know you hate that. Oh, wait. I went to the department store to get something for dad's birthday. Mom's been nagging at him to get a new cologne. I tested some on my skin, come to think about it."

I nod, dismissing it. His dad's birthday _is_ coming up. A perfectly good explanation. Then why isn't he looking at me? I watch as he fishes the key to our apartment from his pocket. I shrug the matter off. It's just cologne. We walk into the apartment, me quickly moving to the bedroom to tidy the sheets I left in disarray when I left so fast earlier. I kick off me shoes and return to the living area to find Sebastian struggling with his own shoes. I chuckle and he mock- glares at me. As he stands up to walk to the bathroom for his pre- sleep shower he says over his shoulder:

"Oh, before I forget: Mom wanted to know if you were coming so she'd know for how many people she has to cook on dad's birthday. You _are _coming right? You know how to handle my sisters way better than I do."

One look at his puppy dog eyes – which he does better than I do, and _I'm_ the canine in this relationship- and I'm sold. Abnormal Blaine Anderson, twenty- one year old werewolf, is going to do something as normal as visit the in- laws for a birthday party.

"Of course I'll come," I answer. His grinning face appears in the doorway to the bathroom. I catch the shirt he throws at me reflexively. He grins a completely different kind of grin now.

"Awesome," he replies, before positively _leering_. "Join me?"

I grin back, stripping my shirt and nearly tripping over my socks in my haste to get to my gorgeous boyfriend. Of course I will.

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><p><strong>I would love to know what you guys think. Please tell me in a review? <strong>


	2. Call

**Title: Howl**

**Chapter: 2, Call**

**Rating: M for language and future sexy times.**

**Pairings: Blaine/ OC, Major Klaine, anything else that strikes my fancy as I go and the plotline progresses. Mostly canon characters and some others.**

**Summary: In a world where Kurt and Blaine never met in high school, a reluctant werewolf is dragged back to his Pack to deal with his past, the terrifying present and the unclear future.**

**Disclaimer: Sadly: Not mine. RIB is the mastermind behind Glee.**

**AN: Hi all! It's unbelievable the amount of love this fic's already gotten! The amount of alerts and favourites is incredible for a first chapter alone! Thank you guys! Also: thanks to my one wonderful reviewer, who seems to know exactly what I wanted…**

**Anyways, I hope you lot enjoy chapter two. I'd love to hear what you all think about it! Let me know?**

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><p>"Blaine, wait up!"<p>

I sigh, but do so anyway. I run my hand through my gelled back curls and wait patiently for Rick to catch up with me, even though all I want to do is go home and pass out on the couch. After I had joined Sebastian in the shower last night, we took an incredibly long time to get clean…after getting dirty again after the first time in the shower. We then moved to the bedroom, me still high of my run and him in a very touchy- feely mood. Suffice to say, I didn't get any sleep.

"Hey, so how about that lec- - holy shit, dude, you look like crap!"

Ah, Rick. Tactful as always. He's right of course, I do look awful. I know I've got bags under my eyes and I forgot to shave this morning.

"Thank you, Rick. Nice to see you too."

He grins at me, and I take a moment to take in today's outrageous ensemble as we start to walk. He's wearing incredibly form fitting purple jeans, paired with a white shirt and an incredibly bright pink vest which I'm sure he got from the girls' department. It does compliment the pink streaks in his hair though. I notice he's changed the piercings in his left ear to match his clothes, just like the laces in his cheap white sneakers are now a fluorescent pink. I shudder to think of the time he must put into creating his outfits.

"Sorry, Blainster," he responds, and I cringe a bit at the horrid nickname, "Had a rough night?"

Though I know he's trying to act sympathetic, I know what he's really asking. The twinkle in his eyes and the rapidly twitching eyebrows make his true words pretty obvious.

"Got to sleep later than usual," I reply, making a left turn to head to the food court, Rick following automatically.

"Uhu, I bet you did," my friend replies, wiggling his eyebrows in that ridiculous way still. I nudge him non too gently in his side, trying my best to hide the blush that's spreading across my cheeks. I have known Rick for over three years now and I'm still not used to his blunt manner.

"Oh, shut it you," I say, rolling my eyes. "Let's just get some coffee before I drop down, dead."

He smirks. "My Blaine, the drama queen. Let's go get you your Medium Drip then."

I say nothing, merely raising an eyebrow at his flamboyant attire. If anyone's the drama queen in this friendship, it sure as hell isn't me. He grins sheepishly. Message received. We reach the food court and I nearly breathe a sigh in relief. Sweet relief in coffee. I'm pathetic and I know it.

Standing in line, Rick starts talking about how his ex, Peter, (Who I was sure was still the boyfriend. Guess I was wrong, Rick goes through boyfriends like he does socks) was already spotted making out with some other guy, hussy that he is. I refrain from rolling my eyes, knowing that the minute Rick spots a new cute guy Peter will be out of his memory immediately. Not even a minute later, I'm proven right.

"Well, _hello._ Hottie alert."

I snort, not even looking around to see the pour soul's who's caught Rick's attention.

"Get any gayer, I dare you."

"Oh honey, you might want to look then, cause I'm planning on getting all up on _that_."

I place my order with the barrista, then turn around to look at the apparent 'hottie' because I'm curious now. I instantly dismiss the elderly couple of teachers and every single girl there. I also notice a few of Rick's exes scattered around the room and I briefly wonder how many guys in this school he's actually had. I don't have to look any further for the mysterious 'hottie' though, since Rick quickly fixes his hair and _struts_ towards a table in the back.

Oh my. That man _is_ gorgeous. And distinctly less twink- like than Rick's usual victims- ahem, _boyfriends_. His auburn brown hair is coiffed perfectly, not a hair out of place, and his clothes look like they've been plucked from a catwalk. He's immersed in a book, but with my enhanced sight I can still make out the colour of his eyes: a strange, but attractive, blend of grey, blue and green. I silently applaud Rick for his taste in men this one time and take the coffee the barrista hands me.

I sit down at the nearest empty table, not taking my eyes of Rick and his mystery man. The man looks up as Rick approaches him, and I see him take in my friend's clothing. He's judging the clothes, I can tell. I don't blame him, though. Rick's outfits are usually pretty outlandish and…bright. And compared to what this man is wearing: kind of trashy.

Rick starts talking to him then, and the man lowers his book a bit. A good sign? No, the man isn't really smiling. More of a smirk, in fact. He shakes his head to whatever my friend is saying and I see Rick's shoulders drop a little. They exchange a few more words, then Rick turns to head back over to me, and the man picks up his book again. I stand as Rick approaches me again, offering him the free cookie that came with my coffee.

"Can't win them all, Rick," I say to him, trying to hide my amused smile.

"Oh, stuff it Blainy- bear," he replies, stuffing the cookie in his mouth in a single go.

I laugh, clapping him on the shoulder as we walk out of the food court.

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><p>When I come home to the apartment later that day, the first thing I smell is a delicious curry scent coming from the kitchen. I follow my nose to the stove, where the curry is indeed cooking. Before I can sneakily taste some, a pair of arms wrap around my midsection. I had heard him coming, of course, but I pretend to be surprised.<p>

"Sebastian! Don't startle me like that."

"You know you love it, hon," he says and I can feel his grin against my neck. He's right. I do.

"Hmm, this smells delicious. I thought it was my turn to cook, though?" I ask. I know why he cooked, though. I'm terrible in the kitchen. Absolutely horrible. I can do grilled cheese sandwiches, toast and pancakes, but that's where my culinary prowess ends. I burn pretty much anything else.

"I know, hon," he replies and I wonder how he's going to get out of telling me my cooking sucks. "I just thought I'd surprise you."

"I like surprises," I say, turning around in his arms so I can kiss him quickly, before swiftly stealing a bite of the curry from the stove. He playfully swats my hand away as I go for another taste. I'm starving, even though I stopped at a hot dog vendor for two hot dogs on my way home. Hey, I'm a wolf. My metabolism is through the roof.

"I know you do," he grins, turning to the stove. "Speaking of, someone left a message for you on the machine. I would've picked up the phone, but I was in the shower and only caught the tail- end of the message. Who's Wes? You never mentioned a Wes."

I pause, my heart stopping for a moment, then promptly restarting again, going a hundred beats per minute. Wes? No, couldn't be. Sebastian must have misheard. I haven't heard from Wes in over four years, ever since I left. As a matter of fact, I haven't been in contact with _anyone_ from back home, in Ohio. Not since I left small town Ohio for New York.

"An old friend," I reply belatedly, staring at the phone in trepidation. "From back home."

I walk over to the answering machine, pressing the 'play' button. All too soon, a very familiar yet still half way forgotten voice sounds through the room.

"_Hello, this is Wes Montgomery speaking. I'm looking for Blaine Anderson. I hope I finally have the right number. The sheer amount of B. Anderson's in the New York City phone book is ludicrous. If this is the Blaine Anderson from Westerville, I have a message for you: There's been a chain of… unfortunate events and the entire Family is being rounded up and brought to Ohio. That's all I can say right now. Please call me back if you're the Blaine I went to school with. I'm sure you still have my number somewhere. This was Wes Montgomery. Bye."_

I let a sigh escape me. Yep, that's Wes. Only Wesley Montgomery would start and end his messages with his name. A series of unfortunate events, huh? With the family being rounded up? In other words: Shit has hit the fan and the Pack is called together to solve the problem. Well, they can do it without me. No way I'm going back. I have a life now. A nice boyfriend, a place to live, good friends, and I'm only a few months away from graduation. Before I can convince myself even more, Sebastian interrupts my thoughts.

"Sounds serious. Are you going?"

"No."

"Why not? It's your family."

I know Sebastian doesn't understand why I never visit my family, or even talk about them. He's been raised in a loving home, with parents that accept him and care for him, and siblings that want nothing more than to follow him everywhere and have fun together. I've met his family a few times now, and they're genuinely nice people. They've even accepted me as part of their family. Me, I haven't seen my family in over four years. My family was the opposite of Sebastian's. My parents aren't very openly loving, and pair that with werewolf nature and slight homophobic tendencies, and you'd have an explosive household. I'm sure my parents loved me as a child, but my home was never particularly loving, and I left when I had just turned seventeen. I never looked back. Until now, that is.

I hear Sebastian sigh behind me. "At least give this Wes guy a call. See what's up."

I give in, even though I know I shouldn't. If I listen to Wes, I'll be swayed to go have a look, and then I'll never leave again. The Pack will suck be back into their fold and I'll leave everything behind if I now leave willingly. So I won't. I'll call Wes, but I won't leave for Ohio. I pick up the phone and dial Wes' number from memory. I can see Sebastian smiling from the corners of my eyes. Every second Wes doesn't pick up I'm tempted to hang up. Finally, his voice sound on the other side of the line.

"_Hello? Wes Montgomery speaking."_

I sigh. This is it, then. "Hi Wes. It's Blaine."

"_Blaine? Oh my God, I can't believe it. How are you?"_

I try to hide my grin at hearing my old friend through the phone, but Sebastian catches it anyways before he goes back to the kitchen. I answer:

"I'm fine, Wes. You left me a message about some events?"

"_Right to the chase, huh? Of course. There's been some problems lately and we're moving every Pack wolf back to Ohio."_

"What kind of problems?" I ask, not really learning anything I didn't get from the message.

"_I can't really go into that over the phone, Blaine. You know better than that. We need you to come back home."_

"I am home, Wes. I'm good where I'm at right now." If he isn't going to tell me what's going on, I'm sure as hell not going to go back to Ohio. For all I know, it'll turn out to be something stupid like some wolfs tripping over their tails or something, and Wes will have blown it all out of proportion, like I remember he used to do. The line crackles, and I just know Wes just sighed.

"_I was afraid you'd say that."_

The doorbell rings, and I got to answer it, talking to Wes at the same time.

"You should know better than to think I'd willingly come back on no information at all."

"_Oh, I do know better,_" he says, and I just know he has a plan of some sort that I'm not going to like. I open the door and at the same time Wes continues:

"_Which is why I made sure you'll get here. See you soon, Blaine."_

With that he hangs up. I snort, then open the door fully. To my surprise, on the other side of the door stands the man Rick went gaga over not six hours ago. I can only stare in surprise. From in the kitchen, Sebastian calls: "Who's at the door, hon?"

"Good question," I mutter, before finally speaking to the handsome man in my doorway. "Can I help you?"

The man smirks, and suddenly I know what Wes is up to.

"You sure can," the man says, and damn it all if his voice isn't as perfect as I thought it would be. "My name's Kurt. I've been ordered to escort you back to Westerville."

Screw you, Wes. Not fair.

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><p><strong>What's the verdict? I'd love to hear your thoughts!<strong>


	3. Object

**Title: Howl**

**Chapter: 3, Object**

**Rating: M**

**Pairings: Blaine/ OC, Major Klaine, anything else that strikes my fancy as I go and the plotline progresses. Mostly canon characters and some others.**

**Summary: In a world where Kurt and Blaine never met in high school, a reluctant werewolf is dragged back to his Pack to deal with his past, the terrifying present and the unclear future.**

**Disclaimer: Sadly: Not mine. RIB is the mastermind behind Glee.**

**AN: Hi all! Omigosh, you guys, I can't believe the amount of support I've gotten for this fic already! Every day since posting the second chapter at least one or two people have put it on their Story Alerts and/ or their Favourites. Also, the reviews! I loved every single last one of them. I want to reply to them, I really do, but I'm having some difficulties with my PMs **

**Also: College's started up for me again. Don't worry though: I actually write **_**more**_** during the school year, because I take my laptop in the train with me. That gives me about two hours each day to write uninterruptedly when I feel the inspiration ^^**

**Anyways, I hope you lot enjoy chapter three. I'd love to hear what you all think about it! Let me know?**

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><p>"You're kidding me, right?"<p>

The man smirks at me some more, leaning against my door post as if he belongs there. His stance and the look in his eyes tell me that he's not completely human. I can smell the wolf on him. I've never seen him before though, so I assume that he's a Mutt, contracted by the Pack to bring me back to Ohio. Wes is smarter than I usually give him credit for, apparently.

"I assure you," he says, straightening up some, "that I am not kidding. Wes sent me to come pick you up."

"He did, huh?" I ask, even though I know he definitely did.

"Sure did," the auburn- haired man says. "So, where are your bags? We'll need to get going soon."

I snort. "You're going to Ohio alone. I'm not coming with."

Before the man can respond, Sebastian walks out of the kitchen, wearing the apron I jokingly gave him a while back that reads "I believe I can fry".

"Hon, dinner's ready. Oh, who's this?"

"Hon," I reply gesturing vaguely at the man at the door, "This is, er… sorry, I completely spaced on your name…"

I didn't forget his name, of course. I just need to make him see that I don't think it's worth remembering since I won't be going to Ohio with him. A glint in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what I'm doing and that he's not impressed. At all.

"It's Kurt. Kurt Hummel. Nice to meet you….?", he asks, a charming smile suddenly on his face and a hand outstretched to my boyfriend. Sebastian takes it and briefly shakes it before dropping it.

"Sebastian Desdardeaux," he replies, and I can see Kurt struggling not to raise an eyebrow at my boyfriend's- admittedly pretentious- last name. I know I laughed the first time I heard it.

"So, what can we help you with Kurt?", Sebastian asks and my eyes shoot to Kurt's, nearly begging him not to mention anything wolf-related. Normal humans aren't supposed to know about us, unless under need- to- know circumstances. Like after being bitten by one. Or marrying one. Or in case of werewolf-pregnancy, which is basically a normal pregnancy, but when the children are born they'll shift between human and wolf forms for the first couple of weeks to lay the basis for future transformations. Imagine a mother's shock at seeing her baby turn into a pup, and back. Best to warn them in advance.

Luckily, Kurt catches my look and answers: "I've been sent to accompany Blaine back to Ohio, since I was going back myself anyways."

Sebastian looks at me, confused: "Didn't you _just _call to answer the message that guy left for you?"

"I did, yeah," I answer him, ignoring the amused glint in Kurt's eye. "Apparently, Wes thought it best to send someone to make sure I go back to Westerville."

"So, are you going?", Sebastian asks.

"I wasn't planning on it, no," I answer, looking pointedly at Kurt, who's looking decidedly less amused now.

"The hell you're not," Kurt answers, looking like he's on the verge of some kind of diva-esque fit. "You're coming back to Ohio with me. Your father will be pissed at me if you don't."

I shrug, not really able to find it within myself to care about how pissed my father will be at this Mutt. Kurt might get his wrist slapped or something for not getting the job (meaning: me) done, but he'll move on and get back to his life on the road, like Mutts do.

"Sucks to be you, then. I don't really care", I say, and from the intake of breath behind me I can tell that Sebastian is surprised by this.

I don't usually show him this side of me: The Pack wolf turned Lone wolf that stopped caring ages ago and has the attitude and temper to prove it. Instead he just knows me as the dapper, charming, and sometimes boring law student I try to pretend I've become. Unfortunately this side of me, the real me, seems to be hard to repress lately.

Kurt suddenly smirks a little and I know that along with the sharp intake of breath, my boyfriend is giving me one of his _looks_. He has those, you know. They usually come out when he wants something done, or when he really disagrees with something I say. I sigh. Two against one then. Awesome.

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><p>I'm not entirely sure how it has happened, but I'm sitting at the dining room table, sharing some of my boyfriend's delicious curry with the man who is about to drag me back to the one place I swore I'd never return to. My bag (just the one, I don't intend to stay any longer than absolutely necessary) lies in a corner of the room. I'm fuming, and instead of trying to make me feel a bit better about having to return to Ohio (not that he would, after the speech he gave me not half an hour ago about the value of family in the safety of our bedroom, Kurt probably listening in gleefully from the sofa in the living room), Sebastian is a bit too busy practically having the pants charmed off of him by my hostage- taker.<p>

"So, why did they send you to pick up Blaine?" he asks after having swallowed a bite of his curry.

Kurt's answer follows immediately: "I live nearby and I was heading back for the same thing."

"Oh, do you work around here, then?"

"No, I'm still in college. Tisch."

My boyfriend pulls the appropriate impressed face. I struggle to reign in mine. That was the school I had wanted to go to, way back when I still lived at home and my father was going to pay for college. Now I got into law school on a scholarship, because I knew I'd have more chance of a well- paying job.

"Are you family then? Since it's a family emergency and all."

I barely supress the snort that's threatening to come out. Of course not. I've never seen him before today, and Mutts are in no way related to Pack. Mutts are loners, they don't stop anywhere long enough to create a family, nor do they keep in touch with the family they left behind when they were bitten. See, most Pack members are born into the Pack, and as such born a wolf. There are only a few Pack members that started out completely human, and they're only Pack because they married into it.

Mutts are bitten wolfs. They're rare, and I'm surprised to find one living so close by, but they exist. You see, not many people survive a werewolf bite. If the magnitude of the wound doesn't kill you, the poison will. With the poison comes a fever. After that, delusions and general heavy sickness. The body will try to absorb the poison, and it is this poison that eventually –though this process can take months- mutates the human genes into wolf genes. In this period of hallucinating and fever sweats, the transitioning body will involuntarily shift between human and wolf a few times. It's during these changes that most of those that didn't already die from the bite, the poison or the fevers feel their bodies give in and surrender to death. Not many bitten wolfs survive by themselves, since they need constant care in the transitioning period.

"Not by blood," Kurt answers, daintily (and seriously, who does that?) taking a bite from his food. Earlier, he had given me a _look_ –and how annoying is it, that he has those too?- at the amount of food I had on my plate, much less than a wolf should eat. He gave me the same look when I scooped the same amount on his plate. "You could say I was sort of unofficially adopted."

I raise an eyebrow. No Mutt would dare say the Pack adopted them. How ballsy was this guy going to get? Apparently, Sebastian has thrown him a questioning look ('Cause god forbid Kurt look at me at some point during the meal. Not that I want him to, of course…), because he elaborates:

"I became good friends with some of the other younger kids in the family after I transferred to their school halfway in my junior year. I was over so often they started setting a plate for me during weekdays," here, he laughs, though I can tell there's more to the story. He continues: "Then, I fell _sick_ in the first few weeks of my senior year and they took care of me during those few weeks. My own parents were out of town during that time, and they lived two hours away from school anyways, so I didn't really see them during the week anyways. I've kind of had a bed with the family ever since."

The way he looks at me when he says he was 'sick', makes me think for a short while. He wasn't sick, he was bitten. And on school grounds too, I wager. Dalton Academy for Boys (my own old high school) was full with Pack boys, so odd were big that one of them had lost control. Or a Mutt had run loose in Ohio, which I of course wouldn't have heard anything about, since I left home a few months into Junior year. From the looks of Kurt, he's about my age. He must have taken my place with my friends when I left. Not a Mutt then. Just a guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. Damn, one less reason for me to dislike him.

The meal progresses uneventfully and it's not even an hour later when I've managed to use every excuse I could think of to prolong my staying in New York. I've done the dishes, repacked my bag twice, done the bed up for Sebastian (even though I know he doesn't care about a ready- made bed), tidied the living room a bit, and even contemplated cleaning the toilet. The grossness factor of that last one made me decide against it, but contemplating takes time too.

I send Kurt out to go get his car from the parking lot down the block (doing my very best to supress the urge to shoo him out) and turn to face my boyfriend, not really wanting to leave him for the week. I know it's just a week, but it will most likely be a week of _hell_ and Sebastian is one of the few things that has kept me sane these last few years. I could probably really use his serenity and pompous moments in the days to come. Before I can think about it too much, he pulls me in a warm hug that I immediately return.

"Now," he says, face buried in my hair, "Don't worry about me when you're gone, like I know you will. Focus on whatever problem is disturbing your family enough to try and get you back to them and, who knows? You might even find that you're mending some fences while you're at it."

I snort, finding that incredibly difficult to believe. He squeezes my shoulders a bit in return.

"Stop that. You've had a few years to cool down some, and so have they. Maybe when you get back together, old fights will be fixed and you can come to a truce of sorts or something."

I just nod, knowing that there's no stopping him when he goes off on a rant about the importance of family. Lord knows my ears a still ringing from the one I got before dinner. I pull back from the hug, pressing what I know to be the last kiss for the week to come to his lips. While we're, er, _busy_ with that, I hear Kurt's car pull up to the house. It doesn't sound like the prissy, small car I was expecting, either. And that's another prejudiced thought down the drain. I'm not exactly having the best night.

Suddenly, Kurt's voice sounds behind us, breaking us up: "Hate to interrupt, but I'd like to get going before a cop comes along and gives me a ticket for parking where I'm not allowed to."

Sebastian's arms disappear from around me and I have the childish urge to wrap my arms around his leg and not let go, so I won't have to go. I envision myself behind dragged behind my boyfriend wherever he goes and I have to bite my lip to keep in the laughter that's threatening to escape.

"Yeah, well, it was nice to meet you, Kurt," Sebastian says, reaching around me to shake my abductor's hand.

"You too, Sebastian," Kurt answers, before reaching down to grab my bag from the ground and carrying it out to his car, not so gently throwing it in. I wince for a moment, then reach up to hug Sebastian one last time.

"I'll call when I get there, ok?"

He laughs. "Honey, I better get a call every day. I'll miss you."

I smile. "I'll miss you too."

I stop us right there, knowing we can go on for hours like one of those typically cliché couples on the TV. Not because I wouldn't like to escape my fate for a little while longer, but because Kurt is standing in the doorway, a mocking smirk on his face, undoubtedly wanting to mock us and waiting for the right amount of blackmail material to appear.

I put on my coat, it being unseasonably cold for early October, and follow Kurt out, glancing back to wave at Sebastian's silhouette in the doorway before turning to face the car. For a minute, I stand still, unable to comprehend the sight before me. Where I had privately envisioned some type of sparkly, purple Volkswagen Beetle, stands a shiny, black Navigator. I sigh, and get in the car, needing to hop up a little before I can reach.

This day can't possible get any worse.

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><p><strong>So, what did you think? I didn't want to make it too easy for the boys :P Let me hear your thoughts! I thrive on them <strong>


	4. Drive

**Title: Howl**

**Chapter: 4, Drive**

**Rating: M**

**Pairings: Blaine/ OC, Major Klaine, anything else that strikes my fancy as I go and the plotline progresses. Mostly canon characters and some others.**

**Summary: In a world where Kurt and Blaine never met in high school, a reluctant werewolf is dragged back to his Pack to deal with his past, the terrifying present and the unclear future.**

**Disclaimer: Sadly: Not mine. RIB is the mastermind behind Glee.**

**AN: Hi all! I can't believe the love you're showing this story. Literally every day since the last chapter at least one person alerted or favourite it. That's pretty cool. The reviews: Awesome! One review stuck out for me though: the one that asked why Kurt was ok in the Pack while Blaine wasn't, since Kurt acts much gayer. I love how this fandom automatically thinks that because Blaine doesn't live at home it's because he's gay. For this story, that's only the teeniest, tiniest fragment of why he doesn't live at home. It'll come up next chapter, I think. So keep reading if you're curious :P**

**Also, and this is a bit more serious: I'd like to remind all of you of the AN in the first chapter in which I state that this story is only *inspired* by Musical Memory Maker's 'Surrender Self Control'. I got to thinking about how I'd write a werewolf-story based on Glee after reading that.**

**I got a pretty nasty PM saying that I'm totally ripping her (?) off, even though our stories only have werewolves as a connector in my opinion. There were some nasty words said in it and I kinda lost the will to write for a few days, then realised that I shouldn't let it bother me….cause it's not true. What I did find amusing about the PM though, was this sentence:**

"**I think it's awful that you do this when MMM does hers MUCH better. Every time you post a new chapter I think that yours sucks and when she posts I don't."**

**Why keep reading if you don't like it? Find something else to read. Don't torture yourself with my sucky story and my sucky storylines and my sucky characters.**

**There, I've said my piece. **

**Anyways, I hope you lot enjoy chapter four. This one is a bit more fragmented than the last. I'd love to hear what you all think about it! Let me know?**

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><p>The awkward silence in the car is nearly tangible. We crossed city borders about half an hour ago and already I'm more than ready to beg Kurt to turn the car around. Not only because I really don't want to go back to Ohio, but because this whole ride is just so <em>awkward. <em>

Now that I know Kurt is not in fact a Mutt hired by the Pack, but an actual Pack member I no longer know what to think of him. From what I've gathered so far (and really, this is all from what he said at dinner, because we haven't really spoken since) he's only been a Wolf for four years, and he seems to have accepted it fully even though it couldn't have been easy to have been thrust into a world where werewolves are apparently real and not a figment of someone's imagination.

The thing is, on the rare occasion that a bitten wolf actually survives the first transformation and the process leading up to that, some can't handle it. They either can't handle the pain, or they break under the pressure of trying to fit into a world they'd been told didn't exist their entire lives. Some are just disgusted with themselves because they're not completely human anymore. The wolves that can't handle it, break. They stop taking care of themselves till they wither away, or make sure their miserable half-life ends as soon as possible.

So, to see Kurt be as composed as he seems to be is refreshing. Though, he had the support system of the Pack to fall back on, so maybe I shouldn't be so surprised. Hardly any bitten wolf taken in by the Pack decides they can't live the life they've been cursed with. The Pack acts as a family, even though only few of them are actually related by blood.

Apparently I'm not the only one that thinks this car ride is kind of awkward, as Kurt turns on the iPod in the dock on his dashboard. I recognise the music coming from it as the soundtrack to RENT and somehow I'm not surprised. I had him pegged as a Broadway guy from the start. At least that's one prejudiced thought I've had about him that's proven right.

He must have seen the flash of recognition in my eyes, because he takes this as an opportunity to start talking.

"So, a musical fan, then?", he asks, and I try to ignore the way he says it, like he's grasping on straws to start a conversation.

"I suppose," I answer, then decide to throw him a bone. "I'm more of a top- 40 guy, though."

He nods as if I just told him the answer to acquiring world peace. "I see."

Another silence falls, this one seeming even more awkward. He steers us onto the right exit and I go back to staring out of the window without actually seeing anything. This is the beginning of a very, _very _long drive.

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><p>It's nearing ten and we're pulling of the high way to get gas. I've offered to drive, but apparently Kurt gets very territorial when it comes to his car. I haven't offered again. We park next to a pump and both get out. He's also very distrusting when it comes to people staying inside his car when he's not. I'm not too sure what to think of him and his near obsessive love for his car.<p>

He starts up the pump, then turns to me.

"Go get us some food, will you? I'm starving after that baby- sized meal from earlier," he says, and normally I'd balk at the order, but I'm famished myself. Wolves aren't supposed to eat so little, like humans. I had two hotdogs from a vendor before dinner, and I'm still hungry.

"Fine," I say, and turn to walk to the shabby looking shop attached to the pumps.

"And try to find something healthy!", he calls from behind me. I wave my hand back at him, dismissing it. It's a gas station on the side of the high way. What's he expecting, a fricking three course vegetarian dinner? I snort. From what I've seen of his mannerisms so far, I won't be surprised if that's exactly what he's expecting.

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><p>I get back in the car, tossing a package of string cheese and a package of hard buns on his lap. He looks at me, aghast, as I start tearing into my own hard buns- nearly moaning upon tasting the salami.<p>

"What's this?", he asks snootily, waving the cheese strings in my face.

"String cheese," I mutter, mouth full. " s 'Good for you. Dairy and stuff."

I swallow the bread still in my mouth. "Besides, I'm pretty sure there's some wilting lettuce somewhere in those buns. Vegetables."

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He starts the car up, reluctantly unwrapping the cheese strings. "My skin will look terrible after this."

"Y 'know, Kurt?", I say, polishing of my first bun and starting in on the second. "I don't really care."

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><p>It's almost one when I realise there's no way we're going to be able to drive through the night. Kurt looks about ready to drop (which is saying something, since wolves usually have incredible amounts of energy) and he'll never let me drive his car.<p>

"Just stop at the nearest motel, okay Kurt?", I speak, surprising him since we haven't spoken in hours. "You look just about ready to fall asleep and I'd really hate to die tonight."

It's a testament to how tired he is that he doesn't reply with any more than a nod. I suspect that I won't be able to comment on his appearance without invoking his wrath normally. He just seems like that kind of guy.

We leave the highway at the first sign of a motel. It looks a little shady, I admit, but all I really want right now is a nice, warm bed. I didn't exactly get much sleep after my Change last night and it shows. Kurt parks the car, but doesn't get out. I look at him taking in the motel. The look of disgust on his face is clear as day. He turns the key in the ignition.

"No, absolutely not. We're staying at the next one. I don't want lice."

I sigh. Of course he'd be a diva about where he spends the night.

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><p>The next motel, as it turns out, is over an hour away and looks only marginally better than the last one. By now I'm cranky as hell and Kurt's humming along to the radio is doing nothing to soothe me. He turns of the car, instantly killing the radio, and I nearly breathe out a sigh of relief. The relief is soon gone when I see him scrutinizing this motel like he did the last one.<p>

"I don't know….maybe the next one."

I've had enough. I'm tired, cranky, and the bread from earlier did nothing to fill me up. I give him my best glare.

"Get out of the fucking car."

To my surprise, he only sighs and obeys. I raise an eyebrow. Really? It is _that_ easy to get him to do something? I catch him trying to hide a yawn and I realise that it probably isn't always so easy, but he's tired as well. I unbuckle and grab my bag from the backseat before getting out of the car myself. I close the door at the same time Kurt snaps the trunk closed, a rather classy looking bag hanging off his shoulder.

We start towards the reception- esque area of the motel (which really only consists of a small room with a sort of bar set up as a desk with some grungy looking chairs in the corner. I pretend not to notice Kurt wrinkling his nose in disgust. I step up to the 'desk', and slam my hand down on the dingy bell. After a few moments of waiting and Kurt looking around, trying desperately not to touch anything, a small, rotund man comes shuffling in from what I presume to be a back room.

"What can I do for you?", he asks, voice gravelly. I suspect he's a smoker, and a heavy one at that.

"We'd like a room for the night," I answer, determinedly ignoring Kurt's mutter about how 'like' is an incredible overstatement.

The man's beady eyes narrow some. "Just the one room?"

"Yeah. Have you got any left with two beds?"

He doesn't say anything and turns around to look at the mouldy board behind him. He picks up a key and shoves it into my hand. "There. Payment's up front."

I move to get my wallet, but Kurt's already handing the man a card. I look at him and he shrugs at me.

"Wes sent me the card for our expenses on the trip home."

I nod, a smirk threatening to break out onto my face. Wes's card, huh? That could be fun.

Before I can say anything about it, the man hands Kurt the card back and walks back into the back room without saying anything further. I snort, then turn over the key in my hand. Room six. We walk out of the reception area and find our room within seconds. Seeing as there are only ten rooms, it wasn't that big of a surprise, but still. The moment we walk in, I realise the man gave us a room with just one bed. Kurt groans and I'm tempted to join in. I don't really want to share a bed with him, but the dirty looking couch in the corner doesn't really look appealing either.

We share a glance and I'm pretty sure this is the first time the annoyance in Kurt's eyes is not directed at me. He sighs.

"Flip for it?"

I look at him. He looks tired, weary, as if he hasn't had any sleep in days. Before I process what I'm thinking, I'm already shaking my head.

"No, you take it. I'm fine on the couch."

He searches my face for signs of deception and nods when he doesn't find any. He half- smiles, and it's the first time I've seen him do so.

"If you're sure?" he asks, but he's already putting his bag on the bed as he speaks.

"I'm sure," I answer, plopping mine down next to the ratty old couch.

"Ok," he says, before grabbing a bundle of clothes and some jars I'm pretty sure I don't want to know the contents of and disappearing inside the small bathroom. I take the time he's gone to change into a pair of sweats and a shirt. I also pull one of the pillows from the bed and put it on the couch. When Kurt exits the bathroom, face all shiny, I go in to brush my teeth.

I take a moment to just stare at myself in the mirror. I'm not really vain or anything –ok, so maybe my hair is a soft spot for me- but I can tell I look like crap. My eyes look tired and the skin around them is starting to darken some. The after effects of the Change coupled with lack of sleep. There's a bit of a stubble growing on my cheeks and chin and I resolve to shave in the morning. My hair's a mess, but I've been leaning against the car window ignoring Kurt's dirty looks for most of the evening and night.

I brush my teeth, then exit the bathroom. Kurt's standing at the edge of the bed, looking down on it as if trying to decide something.

"What are you doing?", I ask while I'm putting my toothbrush and the paste back in my bag.

He looks at me briefly. "Trying to decide which side of the bed is less likely to give me lice."

I snort, reaching over to flick off the light so that the only light in the room comes from outside. I flop down on the couch, not a trace of grace visible.

"I wouldn't worry about getting lice," I say. I wait for his breath of relief before I continue: "I'd worry about STDs."

"Blaine!"

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><p><strong>So, verdict? Let me know ^^<strong>


	5. Breakfast

**Title: Howl**

**Chapter: 5, Breakfast**

**Rating: M**

**Pairings: Blaine/ OC, Major Klaine, anything else that strikes my fancy as I go and the plotline progresses. Mostly canon characters and some others.**

**Summary: In a world where Kurt and Blaine never met in high school, a reluctant werewolf is dragged back to his Pack to deal with his past, the terrifying present and the unclear future.**

**Disclaimer: Sadly: Not mine. RIB is the mastermind behind Glee.**

**AN: Hi all! Thanks for all the love, especially after the disastrous last chapter! You guys are awesome!**

**BTW: Sorry, sorry, sorry, for the delay! I was about halfway done with it, then realised I had written myself into a corner, so I had to start all over again. As a result, I'm not really happy with how it turned out. But; here it is! With a little bit of Blaine's backstory written in. Not the full story though, I won't give away everything yet^^**

**Oh, and I got a pm asking me if I could be contacted about the story or anything else easily. You can, in fact. Like many people, I've got a tumblr account. It's **irethr**, like my account here. Feel free to come and chat or something ^^**

**Anyways, I hope you lot enjoy chapter five. I'd love to hear what you all think about it! Let me know?**

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><p>The next morning I wake up well rested, but with a terrible crick in my neck. I attempt to get up gracefully, but underestimate the width of the couch and promptly fall of. What a way to wake up. I make no attempt to get up from the floor even though I'm pretty sure it's the dirtiest floor I've lain on in a very long time. Instead I just lay there, blinking at the ceiling and letting yesterday's events catch up with me.<p>

Yesterday morning seems so long ago now. I remember getting up after a rather …_rough_ night and leaving Sebastian in bed. I distinctly remember burning the toast I was making for breakfast and running to the little shop two buildings down to get a cup of coffee and some chocolate rolls. I remember softly closing the door behind me when I left for school and running to catch the underground train. I had gone to lectures, joked with Rick a bit, watched him being turned down by the very guy now asleep on the bed behind me and returning home to a voicemail message from a friend I haven't seen in years. If only it had stayed with that, though.

Now I'm stuck in a grimy hotel room with someone who's dead set on returning me home to Westerville. And I have a terrible crick in my neck. I sigh, and move to get up from the ground. When I get up, I look at the bed in the corner and immediately notice that Kurt's still asleep. For a moment, I consider sneaking out and going back to New York and just leave him here. It's not like he'll miss me much. I haven't exactly been Mr. Congeniality so far. Then I remember he's got the keys to the door and the car is actually his. There goes that plan.

I change into a different set of clothes and stuff the ones I've worn into a plastic bag I had put inside my bag. No need to have the worn clothes stink up the fresh clothes, I reason. I then step foot into the very small bathroom attached to our room and almost immediately step out again. Damn, that's nasty. The smell is terrible and I'm pretty sure I've counted three different types of mould already. I look at the sink. Of, look. Four different types of mould it is. Awesome.

I'm not by any means a neat freak, but I refuse to actually shower or brush my teeth here. Who knows what kinds of small bugs and bacteria are hiding in that faucet. I go back into our shared room and fish my water bottle out of my bag. I hesitatingly step back into the bathroom and use the water in my bottle to brush my teeth and clean my face with, all the while consciously not touching the sink. Not even a full day on the road and I already miss my immaculately clean bathroom at home.

Once I get back to the couch I left my stuff at, I start digging through my bag for something to eat. No success. Damn. We'll have to stop somewhere along the road then, because I didn't see any vending machines when we pulled into the lot here last night. I glance at Kurt. Still fast asleep. Well, that just won't do. I walk over to the bed and just stand there for a few seconds. I've never seen anyone sleep so silently. He doesn't huff, sigh, moan, snore, talk or even move. If not for his steady breathing, I'd swear he was dead.

"Kurt," I say. He doesn't move.

"Kurt." No sign of acknowledgement. I resolve to poke him. No response. I snort. It's actually kind of funny. Werewolves are usually extremely light sleepers. I wake at the drop of a needle, or when Sebastian does as much as turn over in his sleep.

I lean over him a bit so I can shake his shoulder. "Kurt! Wake up!"

His eyes shoot open and before I know it, I'm pinned face down to the bed with his arm around my throat and his legs straddling mine. I'm a bit surprised at this. I didn't really picture Kurt to be a fighter or to even know how to save himself if ever a fight or an internal power struggle would occur in the Pack. I don't have much time to be surprised however, as I'm beginning to feel a bit light headed.

"Uncle! Uncle!" I cry, clawing at the surprisingly strong arm around my throat. This seems to shake him out of whatever state of mind he's in and the arm releases its hold. I let myself fall down onto the mattress and try to regain my breath. He starts to speak, but instead of the apology I'm kind of waiting for he says:

"Cheesus Blaine, don't you even remember what it's like to fight anymore?"

I sit up straight, indignant. Of course I remember. I just never particularly liked it, is all. I've never seen the point of fighting people or other werewolves and I certainly never liked going up against Pack enemies. That's not to say I didn't learn and that I didn't do all that, but I've been living the human life for about four years now. I'm not used to having to fight anymore.

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't expect to be attacked by you this early in the morning," I say with a small glare. "I was just trying to wake you so we can go get something to eat somewhere and get out of this crappy motel room."

He sighs: "Rule number one: Always expect an attack."

I glare at him some more. "That's rule number four. Rule number one is to never tell anyone you're a werewolf."

He blinks. "Wait, there's an actual rulebook?"

I look at him blankly, not impressed in the slightest. "Of course there is. Now go get dressed. I'm starving."

One look at my face, and he does exactly that.

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><p>"I can't believe you're actually eating that."<p>

I look up from my steaming pile of delicious ham covered pancakes. I've just finishes squirting about half a bottle of maple syrup over them. After checking out of our mouldy motel room (with the creepy receptionist looking at as like we were the scum of the earth, which, granted, we probably are. But he doesn't know that.) we managed to find a small mom- and- pop diner just off the highway. Kurt happily ordered some blueberry covered waffles and a huge dish of fruit and is now watching me with utter disgust on his face as I polish off the first two pancakes in a single go.

"Wha'?", I ask, mouth full of delicious mouth -watering pancake- y goodness.

His nose scrunches up, and not in a good way either.

"I can just see the calories going to your hips. Oh, there's one, and another, and a few more, and holy hell, you didn't even chew that last pancake, did you?"

I shake my head at him, grinning with syrup smeared lips. "Nope."

For some reason, Kurt turns a very interesting shade of dark pink. I wonder for a second what might've caused it, but get distracted by the amazing scent of the pancakes I have yet to devour. I dig in again. From the corner of my eye I can see that Kurt has returned to his natural shade and is busy spearing fruit on his fork.

I finish my pancakes in a matter of minutes. Kurt's still only halfway done with his fruit. I can't believe he takes the time to eat daintily. I'm pretty sure he was just as hungry as I was when we got here. I decide to ask the question that's been bugging me ever since he had dinner with Sebastian and me yesterday and he revealed (to me at least, Sebastian has no clue) that he had been Bitten on or near Dalton Academy school grounds. I wait till his mouth is empty before asking:

"So, who bit you?"

He looks at me and for a split second I can see the emotions shift in his eyes. First there's surprise, then anger, then hope , a sense of knowledge and even a hint of fear. It's gone before I can really think about it, and he raises an eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Who bit you? You said it was during school, so I imagine it was either a rouge wolf gallivanting around Westerville or one of the Pack boys who somehow lost the ability to think straight," I elaborate, and I can practically _see_ him close of his thoughts.

"I don't know who bit me," he says. A lie. Every Bitten wolf knows exactly who bit them. Just like every new born baby automatically knows who their mother is, a newly bitten wolf knows exactly who made the venom course through their veins. I don't call him out on the lie and just nod.

"Oh, ok."

He nods back, a sense of relief visible in his slightly sagging shoulders. He then regains his straight posture and counters:

"If we're playing the question game; why did you leave home?"

I put down the napkin I was using to wipe the syrup from my lips and suddenly I know why those feelings were flashing through Kurt's eyes just seconds ago. I'm pretty sure they're flashing through mine at the moment, as well. Without being able to stop it, my thoughts suddenly flash back to the night I left home, and with it, the Pack.

"_I just can't believe you'd do that!" 16- year old me yells, slamming the front door behind me. My father whips around where he stands, the look in his eyes telling me he's not impressed with me at all._

"_You can't believe it? Tough. I did." He answers. The angry shift of his lips causes Julia and Max –my younger and older siblings, respectively- to bolt from the couch and shoot me a sympathetic look before booking it out of the house._

"_You humiliated me in front of my friends, dad!" I yell right back, not even caring that the walls of our house aren't as sound proof as they look and that there are probably more than a few Pack members in our backyard as we speak, or, you know, yell._

"_I did no such thing!" He snarls. "It's your own fault for refusing to come home on time."_

_I growl in frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you, dad? Practise ran late!"_

_He snorts derisively. "Yeah, right. Practise. Is that what you're calling it these days? You were probably fucking around with one of those damn Wogglers of yours."_

_I rear back as if slapped. How dare he throw that in my face?_

"_You know as well as I do that I'm not. It's not as if you'll ever let me forget it."_

"_You need a mate! You're the son of the Pack Alpha and you're still single at your age!"_

"_I'm sixteen, dad!" I bite back. "Attaching myself to someone isn't exactly at the top of my list."_

_He advances on me. "It should be. You're going to be Alpha yourself someday and you need someone strong at your side! You'll be seventeen in a month, it's time to start looking."_

"_Oh, _now_ you remember my birthday!" I scream at him, glad to finally be able to get rid of all the frustration I've been feeling. _

"_Of course I do!" he yells back at me._

"_Funny," I say bitingly. "Haven't seen you on my birthday for quite a few years. Never miss one of Julia or Max's though, do you?"_

"_That's not important right now! Damn it, Blaine, you're so incredibly frustrating!" he growls at me, looking damn near close enough to start pulling out his own hair in frustration._

"_Of course that's what important!" I suddenly scream again. "You're never there when I need you, but when one of them needs you, you can't get there fast enough! I'm going to replace you as the Alpha one day and you don't even take the time to get to know me like you do with them. Why?"_

_He looks at me, fury clear in his eyes. "You want to know why, Blaine?"_

_I swallow the lump in my throat. "Yes."_

_All of a sudden, he explodes: "It's because you're not good enough! You are too small, too weak, too well mannered, too busy with all your stupid music projects, not nearly commanding enough to lead a Pack, you're stubborn, you Shifted later than any wolf I've ever heard about, you won't even bring offspring into the Pack because you just had to be a queer and you'll never, ever be a good Alpha for this Pack!"_

_My blood runs cold. All the things I had privately hoped my father wouldn't think were now out in the open, just like I always knew they would be._

"_I won the Alpha battles," I say, referring to the battles that caused the scars now running across my chest._

"_And I'll never know how you did it. You must have cheated somehow, because _you_ will never be good enough to lead this Pack. You'll lead us to destruction."_

_With that, he walks out the door and I'm left to stand there. It takes me stomping upstairs to my room, pulling a worn suitcase out of the closet and stuffing it full with clothing and other things before I really grasp what I'm doing. I'm leaving, and not just for the weekend, but for good. Why should I stay somewhere that I'm obviously not wanted? Why stay to prove I'm the disappointment my father claims I will be? Why stay to lead the Pack I care so much about to their downfall? No. I'll leave tonight._

And I did. I didn't even wait till dinner. I was gone before anyone even thought to ask why I wasn't there at the dinner table. And I never looked back. I look up and Kurt's still looking at me expectantly.

"Needed a change of scenery."

An obvious lie. He doesn't call me on it.

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><p><strong>What's the verdict? Till next time :)<strong>


	6. Detour

**Title: Howl**

**Chapter: 6, Detour**

**Rating: M**

**Pairings: Blaine/ OC, Major Klaine, anything else that strikes my fancy as I go and the plotline progresses. Mostly canon characters and some others.**

**Summary: In a world where Kurt and Blaine never met in high school, a reluctant werewolf is dragged back to his Pack to deal with his past, the terrifying present and the unclear future.**

**Disclaimer: Sadly: Not mine. RIB is the mastermind behind Glee.**

**AN: Hi all! Thanks for all the love, I really love every single story alert, review and favourite story notification I get. You guys are amazing!**

**Oh, and I'm a little stuck on pairings. Any suggestions? This story will be Warbler- heavy, so suggestions for them would be awesome!**

**Anyways, I hope you lot enjoy chapter six. Let me know what you think about it?**

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><p>The rest of the ride was only slightly less awkward than it had been before. Kurt and I made small talk, listened to the songs coming from the iPod strapped to the dashboard and I spent some quality time staring out of the window. Strangely enough, I'm starting to feel less and less weird in his presence. A bit less hostile, too.<p>

We stop for dinner at a small diner just over Ohio state lines. Kurt orders something overly healthy again, and I go for a meat lovers' special. He looks at the huge pile of meat on my plate in near- disgust and I tease him about his addiction to fruits and vegetables. When I get back to our table after a small bathroom break, I pretend not to notice that my plate is missing pieces of meat. I do notice, though. I love steak. And apparently, so does Kurt.

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><p>We're well past the exit we should have taken when I realise we didn't take it. I know the way back to the Pack by heart, and this isn't it. I turn to Kurt in confusion.<p>

"Er, Kurt? This isn't the way back to Westerville."

He glances at me just a little too calmly. "I know it's not."

For about half a second, I panic. Holy mother of fuck, this isn't a retrieval mission. This is just some Rogue creep wolf- napping the son of one of the most important Alpha's in the country. I can't be going through this, I've got a very sweet boyfriend, a nice apartment and I'm about to graduate_.__I__'__m __too __young __to __die_. Then, Kurt continues speaking and I stop panicking.

"We're not expected there till morning. You know how Wes is with planning."

I nod, my breathing returning back to normal. I do know how Wes plans things. He always has to take every single doom scenario in mind while planning. I remember when the Warblers – the acapella Dalton show choir- made it to Regionals in my sophomore year and he demanded we leave at four in the morning so we could be there in time. The venue had only been an hour away from the school. We never trusted Wes with scheduling our trips again.

"So what doom scenario did he pencil in this time?", I ask, my attention fully on him now. He snorts.

"Five truck pile- up on the interstate," he says, and I can clearly see a glint of humour in his eyes.

I grin. Good old Wes. Then, out of curiosity, I ask: "So, if we're not heading to Westerville, where exactly are we going then?"

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. "My house."

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><p>By 'my' house, Kurt apparently meant 'the house my family lives in', I realise as we pull into the driveway. Even though it's nearly midnight, the door to the house is opened by a man while we're still getting our stuff out of the trunk. And wow, so not the man I had been picturing as Kurt's father. The man in the doorway is broad- shouldered, balding but trying to hide it with a cap and dressed in flannel and faded jeans. Somehow, when I pictured what Kurt's parents might have looked like, this picture had not entered my mind.<p>

I busy myself with getting my bag (and several of Kurt's- _how __long __is __he __planning __on __staying __for __anyways?_) out of the trunk while Kurt is being greeted by his father. Well, greeted…busy being caught in an enormous lift- you- from- the- ground- and- twirl- you- around bear hug. Something in my chest suddenly stings a little, but I ignore it and go for the last bag.

I notice the weird shape of it and that it's a lot larger than the last few bags, but figure Kurt probably hurried to pack and just threw so clothes in, no matter how out of character it may seem. I lift the bag up from the trunk, but find that I have to immediately set it down on the ground again. It's a hell of a lot heavier than it seem to be. I mutter a curse, and Kurt looks at me from where he's finally being set down by his dad.

"Blaine!", he says, startled. "I should have warned you. Sorry! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I answer. "What've you got in there? Bricks?"

Kurt blushes a bit and I can feel my eyes going wide. "Please tell me you don't actually have bricks in there."

The man who I assume to be Kurt's father laughs heartily and claps me on the shoulder. I startle a bit from the unexpected strength behind it. He says: "No, but it's pretty damn close. What you just so gracelessly set down is a small car engine. Been looking for one of those for years. Kurt found one at a garage sale and brought it down for me."

I look at Kurt for a moment – cause where on earth did he manage to find a _garage __sale _in downtown New York?- but the man takes my attention away by introducing himself.

"The name's Burt, kid. Burt Hummel," he says and I struggle to reign in a disbelieving snort. I mean, _Burt _and _Kurt_? Come on. Next he'll be telling me he's got a brother named Furt or something.

"Blaine Anderson," I reply, shaking his hand. His grip is tight, and I'm getting the distinctive feeling like he's trying to measure me up a bit. Before I can examine it any further, the hand is gone and I'm left to pick up my bag from the floor while Burt picks up some of Kurt's. Then Kurt goes for one of his and, surprisingly, the bag with the engine in it. I try not to look too envious as he easily lifts it from the ground and _struts_ into the house.

And, really, I shouldn't be envious. I know that if he had been born a wolf, like me, he would've had a bit more trouble lifting the bag as well. Normal werewolves (and I use the term 'normal' loosely, since many would claim being a supernatural creature is anything but) are stronger than regular people from the moment they're born. They always have a little extra strength and use it to their advantage while still trying not to be noticed by their peers at school or local authorities.

Bitten wolves on the other hand have never had that strength. Once they're bitten and actually survive the poison and the hallucinations, the strength kicks in. Because they never had that amount of strength however, the body tries to compensate by going into overdrive; they suddenly get all the strength they've missed out on by being a regular human for most of their lives. This eventually evens out to the strength levels of a normal werewolf, but for the first few years after the Bite, they're stronger. I'm guessing Kurt has about two years of near super- strength left before he'll be just as strong as the rest of us.

I'm brought out of my thoughts by Kurt suddenly appearing in the doorway and calling my name.

"Blaine! You can come in, you know. _My_ family won't bite."

He laughs at his own lame little joke and disappears inside again. I follow, flushing a bit at having been caught out staring into space again. Rick keeps telling me it's amusing, but I'd rather not look like a total loony all the time. I close the door behind me and head in the direction of where I can hear Kurt talk. And promptly collide with a giant.

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><p>The giant, it turns out, is Kurt's brother Finn. When I started looking for any kind of family resemblance and couldn't find one, Kurt quickly explained it's because they're really stepbrothers, but they consider themselves regular brothers cause they bicker just like them.<p>

At the moment, we're all gathered in the spacious kitchen, being served extremely yummy pancakes by Kurt, even though it's nearly midnight and we really shouldn't be gorging on pancakes. But I'm hungry, Kurt's hungry, and Finn's shovelling enough pancakes in his mouth to feed a small orphanage. Even Burt's stealing one or two pancakes, all the while studiously avoiding Kurt's warning glare.

"Where's Carole?", Kurt asks his dad, and I assume he's talking about his stepmother.

"Working the graveyard shift at the hospital," Burt replies between mouthfuls of pancake, "Annie called in sick, so Carole's filling in now."

Kurt nods, and Finn takes another two pancakes from the stack and starts cutting them into pieces near manically. Kurt looks disapproving, but I'm kind of amused.

"Really, Finn?" Kurt asks, seemingly exasperated, "Have you not even looked at the book on manners I gave you for Christmas?"

"Sure I have," Finn answers, mouth filled with half- chewed pancake, "It's pretty."

Kurt looks like he's about to slap some sense into his brother.

"I mean other than the outside cover, Finn."

"Oh, no. I haven't."

I try to hide my laughter as Burt looks on fondly. Kurt gets up from the table to clear away the plates. I get up to help him, feeling like I'm intruding on a family evening and needing to busy myself with something to feel at least a little bit useful.

As I'm starting to fill the sink with water to clean the dishes (since Burt had just explained that the dishwasher was out of order at the moment. Finn had looked on sheepishly) I hear Finn start to talk again.

"Hey Kurt?"

"Yes, Finn?", Kurt replies, sounding like he's expecting Finn to apologise for not having done anything with the gift he had gotten him for Christmas. Which, really, can be considered rude but I know I don't use all of the gifts I get for Christmas. Like Rick's. Especially not Rick's. It's always some sort of gay- sex related gag item I blush just thinking about.

"Ever hear that joke about the accident in the tunnel?", Finn asks, and I start to clean the dishes vigorously. I know this joke, and something tells me Kurt won't find it funny. Especially considering the conversation that's just ended. From the corner of my eyes, I can see Burt trying to hide a grin. Obviously, he knows it too.

"Want to hear it?"

A sigh. "Sure, Finn. Why not?"

When I hear Kurt's startled little squeak, I almost wish I hadn't turned to the dishes. I'm pretty sure it's a pretty amusing sight to see: Kurt staring in horror at Finn's open mouth filled with half- chewed pancakes. Burt seems to find it funny enough, judging by his shaking shoulders and him desperately trying to avoid making eye contact with his son.

I scrub hard at the syrup on one of the plates, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. These people seem so happy, so at ease with each other. I know I shouldn't, but something in me wishes that my family could have been like that. I turn my head a bit to see Kurt playfully smacking his brother over the head over something he said. I sigh.

Maybe following Kurt around like a puppy on a leash won't be all bad.

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><p><strong>So, <strong>**what****'****s ****the ****verdict? ****:)**

**Till ****next ****time!**


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